Book the Second - the Golden Thread
10. X. Two Promises
 (continued)
"But, do not believe," said Darnay, upon whose ear the mournful voice
 struck with a reproachful sound, "that if my fortune were so cast as
 that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any
 time put any separation between her and you, I could or would breathe
 a word of what I now say.  Besides that I should know it to be
 hopeless, I should know it to be a baseness.  If I had any such
 possibility, even at a remote distance of years, harboured in my
 thoughts, and hidden in my heart--if it ever had been there--if it
 ever could be there--I could not now touch this honoured hand." 
He laid his own upon it as he spoke. 
"No, dear Doctor Manette.  Like you, a voluntary exile from France;
 like you, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and
 miseries; like you, striving to live away from it by my own exertions,
 and trusting in a happier future; I look only to sharing your fortunes,
 sharing your life and home, and being faithful to you to the death.
 Not to divide with Lucie her privilege as your child, companion, and
 friend; but to come in aid of it, and bind her closer to you, if such
 a thing can be." 
His touch still lingered on her father's hand.  Answering the touch
 for a moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the
 arms of his chair, and looked up for the first time since the
 beginning of the conference.  A struggle was evidently in his face;
 a struggle with that occasional look which had a tendency in it to
 dark doubt and dread. 
"You speak so feelingly and so manfully, Charles Darnay, that I thank
 you with all my heart, and will open all my heart--or nearly so.
 Have you any reason to believe that Lucie loves you?" 
"None.  As yet, none." 
"Is it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at once
 ascertain that, with my knowledge?" 
"Not even so.  I might not have the hopefulness to do it for weeks;
 I might (mistaken or not mistaken) have that hopefulness to-morrow." 
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